


Give Me Some Mad Love

by i_got_these_words



Series: Ringside: Ficlets [2]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 13:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_got_these_words/pseuds/i_got_these_words
Summary: Inspired by the TianShan Valentine Event.Day 3: Love SongsThis is not a standalone piece. I would suggest reading it alongside Ringside for the full experience.





	Give Me Some Mad Love

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is designed to be read following Ringside: Chapter (24). However, it is not a necessary accompaniment to the original fic. Feel free to skip right past this if you'd rather not lose yourself in Guan Shan's thoughts.  
> But maybe stay for the cock?

> **HT:**  I wanna see you tonight
> 
> **You:**  we said we were meeting tomorrow night

It’s late.

The curtains are as he left them this morning – drawn, and a little dusty. Plain and unpretentious. Just like the rest of the room. If he could see it. But he’s too busy toeing off his sneakers and pulling the sweatshirt off his head to switch a light on.

There’s something comforting about being swathed in shadows. Like he’s being shielded. Or sheltered. And he refuses to psycho-analyse that any further.

He drops his cell phone as his arm slides out of a sleeve. He doesn’t hear it land on the carpeted ground because the asshat in the next room over is playing Mad Love.

On a loop.

_Again._

Fucker.

The dance history and culture major has been slamming Sean Paul all week and, if Guan Shan wasn’t determined to keep his head down on campus and his nose clean, he’d have boxed the guy’s ears already.

They’re all the same. The students here. Self-entitled. Insufferable. Posers with stifling levels of punkassery. It’s not surprising he hasn’t made any friends. But the isolation and ostracism have made it difficult to settle in. Dancing helps him get through it, though. It’s always helped him battle his dark thoughts and darker plans. And he’s a better dancer for it. Better than most of these snobs with their flairs of finesse and flamboyance.

He’s a fireball. Badass and blistering.

And they hate him for it.

But he only needs to get through one last semester then he’s out.

Home free.

His phone lights up with an incoming message and he bends down to retrieve it. A muscle in his midsection twinges and he wonders if he should have spent longer in the ice bath. He’s going head to head with Manic Mao in a fortnight and he’s upped his training regimen in preparation. His body doesn’t thank him for it, but fuck it. It would deal. And thank him for it later.

> **HT:**  I know
> 
> **HT:**  I miss you though

Guan Shan re-reads the last line, his breath catching a little.

He can’t recall the last time someone had said they’d missed him.

He thinks Yue Ying would have told him she’d miss him when he’d left the orphanage. But she’d soldiered through and then succumbed to the flu the month prior and he’d said his goodbyes then. Told her urn he’d missed her. And he did. And does. Life had been cruel to a kid with perpetually crossed knees and permanent contractures. All she ever wanted to do was dance the day away with him to a Teresa Teng number trilling from the taped-back-together-again radio.

‘I miss y–’, he starts typing. Stops himself. And backspaces.

Ugh.

He rubs his face with his free hand as he makes his way to the single bed up against the far wall of the room. Flinging himself onto the mattress, he wonders what he should do about the hunk with the hurricane in his eyes. All dapper in his designer gear. And all suave with his subtle foreplay.

He remembers the first time he’d spotted He Tian sitting ringside. He’d felt like a wild game caught in crosshairs. Exposed. Vulnerable. Targeted. Weeks later and he still feels like he’s in He Tian’s crosshairs. Except now he feels… contended.

Cornered.

But coveted.

Built like the broad side of a mountain, He Tian’s as big as some of the guys Guan Shan brawls against in the ring. He doesn’t feel threatened though. Especially when He Tian flushes that deep, telling red when he’s flustered. Or turned on.

And that fucking  _voice._ All steel and sinful velvet. Especially the way he says Guan Shan’s name. Depending on the pitch, and the turbulence in his eyes, what Guan Shan tends to hear instead are variations of ‘bend over’ or ‘please fuck me’.

The sentiment reminds him of last night. Straddling a pair of thighs thicker than own. A fervent He Tian latching onto the faded bitemark at the junction between his neck and shoulder. Sucking. Lapping. Nipping.

The heat from He Tian’s mouth had made Guan Shan feel like his dick was melting. And when He Tian had started up his rich-kid superbike for funsies, the engine had thrummed under them like an aching hard-on.

Like the aching hard-on Guan Shan was currently sporting.

_Fuuuckkk._

Reaching behind him, Guan Shan snags the jacket that he’d left hanging on his bedpost. He brings the inner lining up to his face. Breathes in.

In addition to the smoky scent of leather, there’s an implication of nuts roasted at a campfire and a stirring of caramel syrup. And, under all that, there’s something crisp and piquant, like ocean mist, which is exactly what He Tian’s hair smells like.

Guan Shan groans. Runs a hand down his bare torso. Wishing instead he was running it over the swell of He Tian’s pecs, or the hard-cut of his abs. He wants He Tian under him. Stripped to the skin. Preferably with his hands strapped above his head.

Guan Shan’s blood effervesces at the thought of He Tian giving that to him – a small gift of surrender. And his groin grows taut with the possibilities. For one, that sexy-as-fuck timbre dissolving into incoherent whimpers.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckkk._

Grabbing hold of the elasticated waistband of his sweatpants, Guan Shan pushes them down and kicks them off. He curls his fingers around his cock and imagines it’s He Tian’s. Or he tries to, at least. His hand isn’t easily fooled; he doesn’t have He Tian’s length or girth. Or that loose, silky foreskin that Guan Shan wants to lavish with attention. And tongue.

He’s too far gone and he knows it.

Reclaiming his cell, Guan Shan opens up WeChat and texts back just as Mad Love loops again.

> **You:**  is that code for phone sex

_Jiggle up your body_  
_Jiggle up your swing, swing_

 _Love me, love me like that_  
_Love me like we ain't never let go_

**Author's Note:**

> I took a little risk doing a piece from Guan Shan's perspective and I would love some genuine feedback on whether it worked. Thank you x


End file.
